Defense of the Ancients: The Heart of Tarrasque
by RookieWriter02
Summary: The orcs and humans return to do the final battle for the freedom of the world. The famous heroes of the DotA game come to do battle in an attempt to uncover the secret of Tarrasque. This is the edited version of the story I was doing a few months ago
1. Prologue and Character Map

This is the newly edited version of Heart of Tarrrasque. I just got back to this story and read it over to find the dozens of errors and nonsensical events of the story. Hopefully, my major revision of the fic would be much clearer and well-defined.

Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft III or any of the Warcraft games by Blizzard Entertainment. I also do not own the characters of this story or any other objects found/relating to the game, "Defense of the Ancients" or DotA.

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**PROLOGUE**

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**The Ethereal Plane**

The spirit was quite uneasy. He could feel a certain dread coming ever closer as the days pass. An evil greater than he would consume him very soon. He could feel it. Day and night, this dread grew upon him and fear enveloped his existence.

Despite the destruction of the mighty Burning Legion, the spirit knew that evil would not rest until hell broke loose unto Azeroth. Evil would not rest until the Ethereal Plane was destroyed and the Dragonflights were dead. As much as he would like to hope that evil would be destroyed once and for all, he found it hard to believe. The dread that he felt inside of him had been there since the dawn of time. It was as if he knew that darkness would, one way or another, get a hold of him. It was as if evil was the reason for his existence... Was he meant to be a spirit of the Ethereal Plane? Was he meant to be one of the greatest protectors of this peaceful void?

He did not know what to say. The answer would not come to him every time the question was asked. But he knew, from deep within his self, that there was a purpose to his existence. One day, he would figure it all out and when he does, he would submit to destiny. He would put the fate of the world to fate itself...

In the world of Azeroth, the world of mortals, unknown to the spirit, another war was about to brew. And in this war, his purpose would finally be revealed...

* * *

_Characters found in the story (so far) -_** Special DotA items found in story**

**Rikimaru - Stealth Assassin**_  
_

**Nortrom - Silencer **_w/ Lothar's Edge_

**Abbadon - Lord of Avernus**_ w/ Heart of Tarrasque  
_

**Leshrac the Malicious - Tormented Soul**

**Kel'Thuzad - Lich **_w/ Vanguard_

**Balanar - Night Stalker**

**N'aix - Lifestealer**

**Vol'Jin - Witch Doctor**

**Strygwyr - Bloodseeker **_w/ Kelen's Dagger of Escape_

**Huskar - Sacred Warrior**

**Rhasta - Shadow Shaman**

**Yurnero - Juggernaut**

**Purist Thunderwrath - Omniknight**

**Luna Moonfang - Moon Rider**

**Miranda Nightshade - Priestess of the Moon **

**Jah'Rakal - Troll Warlord **_w/ Manta Style  
_

**Mercurial - Spectre **


	2. Rikimaru

Chapter 1: **RIKIMARU**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

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**The Newly-Liberated Lands of Quel'Thalas**

Satyrs are regarded as the bearers of bad luck in any human community. Their dark-hued skins are indications of nothing sweet or good. No one in their wildest imaginations would suspect one single satyr to fight for moral-driven goals.

Although humans were the first to witness the trickery and betrayal of the satyrs, the Night Elf race also had a sad history with these creatures. In the race against the destruction of the Frozen Throne, Maeiv Shadowsong was on the Demon Hunter, Illidan's tail. Illidan had brought the Night Elf Warden and her watchers across the sea and into the plagued lands of Lordaeron where a civil war was about to brew. Illidan who evaded Maiev day and night allied himself with the Naga and the Satyrs. This connection brought about the stereotype against satyrs. For these peace-loving elves, there was every reason to hate and despise satyrs...

Rikimaru was a satyr and he knew all of these facts. His mother being the wife of a Corrupted Ancients leader told him all of these by the time he had matured into adulthood. Rikimaru was young and unusually inquisitive. This trait actually led him into many troubles often with the blood elf race whom the satyrs allied with in the recent liberation of Quel'Thalas.

Rikimaru like any maturing satyr had his trusty weapon, the scythe. It was to be used not only for reaping and sowing in the fields but also for battling in war. The alliance with the blood elves also gave the satyrs and opportunity of a proper war. These elves were constantly at war against the Undead Scourge who had settled here for the past five years. With the satyrs' power of cunning and trickery, the blood elves no longer need to hide in the forests and mountains anymore. With the satyrs' help, they had reclaimed their homeland.

News of the constant war always came everyday through the mid-morning lectures of the old elven priest who lived in the town square. He was Quel'Thalas' messenger and often travelled back and forth, from the battle zones south west of the region to the city of Silvermoon which blood elves and satyrs had inhabited.

Every morning, when dawn breaks, the priest can be seen teaching his accomplices the art of healing and magic. For hours they would stand there in the middle of the square and practice the calm movements of the body which was the center of all power within. Then before the sun would reach its peak, the crowd of people waiting for the news in the war zone would approach him and question him immediately.

It was always like this. And it seemed very routine for Rikimaru to attend these lectures everyday.

One day, after the morning exercises with his elven accomplices, the priest smiled his big smile creasing many wrinkles in that very tired face.

"We have already confirmed the fact that the Scourge has two enemies: our union of races and the Undead Forsaken. And I could say that things couldn't have been better." he said rather calmly.

Many gasped at the news. Some found it very amusing. Others were way over their heads.

"How can it be that you're pleased?" called an elder satyr. "War is never a happy thought."

"We are at war, my friend," the old elf chuckled. "The happiest thought we could think of these days are thoughts of victory."

"Will we win?" called a young elf child.

"Over the Scourge, most probably," the priest said firmly. "But the Forsaken, that is another story."

Then the very thought that had been bothering Rikimaru for a while burst from his lips. "Elf brother, does war never end? My father died in the hands of Night Elves. My kinsman and yours are now dying in the hands of those from the Netherworld. Does it never end?"

The elf priest eyed Rikimaru carefully. "Understand that our world is in peril. We must take into account events that lead to war after war. The invasion of the Burning Legion and the coming of the Undead was too much in our history that wars would be inevitable in the present time."

"Wars have been going on since I could remember. Stories and legends speak of wars countlessly. It's as if our world has been plunged into centuries of battle and has not yet risen from the dark waters of war."

The priest stared at Rikimaru and at no one else. It was quite a calculating stare as he were being scanned inside out. "You are quite an observant one, my friend."

The priest then turned away from him. Noticing the gesture, Rikimaru almost laughed. The priest had no answers for him! What kind of warrior who fights in battle almost everyday doesn't know the meaning of war?

Soon, when the bells in the town square began to ring, the crowd slowly dispersed. Rikimaru himself was about to leave had he not felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. At the moment, the wind was blowing harder than ever. As the day was reaching noon, the winds from the east were now crashing down on the villages of Silvermoon. He knew the hand touching him belonged to the priest.

"What is your name?" the elf spoke without any hint of anger that Rikimaru thought he had.

"Rikimaru, son of the Farimaru from the Glades of Tirisfal," Rikimaru faced the priest and replied, not at all ashamed in revealing his bleak history.

"Farimaru, king of the Corrupted Ancient dominion?" the elf priest looked startled. "King of the pure-blood satyr race?"

"I am not my father."

The priest eyed him carefully. Rikimaru knew what was on his mind. He knew the priest was doubting whether to trust him as is with everyone who knew the history of his father.

"You are destined for great things, Rikimaru," the priest said rather simply. "From the moment you asked me about the war, I knew you we're not like the rest of your kin who unlike you have intermarried with other races. You are from the purest satyrs and have inherited their curious nature whereas these others are nothing but followers. Thus, the greatest leaders are those who question and take a stand."

Rikimaru was surprised. What was this elf talking about? Just a while ago, the priest was speechless at his inquisitive remarks.

The priest grinned at Rikimaru. "You said earlier that we are plunged into centuries of battle. I tell you now that our chance to rise from these dark waters will come soon. I foresee another war coming, a war that would be greater than anything we've experienced so far. If this war would be won, our world would become free."

Rikimaru stared unbelieving at the priest. "What are you on about?"

The priest continued to just grin at Rikimaru. "Follow me and I will show you...

The priest started to walk. He was as graceful as the elves always were; his year-old spell book was dangling awkwardly on his side. Rikimaru followed, not at all believing what trouble he was now headed to.

"Where are we going?"

"To the West Tower." The priest was pointing at one of Silvermoon's tall skyscrapers. It was high enough to make even the bravest elf dizzy.

One thousand three hundred forty-two steps later, Rikimaru and the priest were standing in front of the wide window at the topmost floor of the tower. It had taken almost the rest of the day to scale the building but Rikimaru was used to these types of exercises. Surprisingly, the priest too did not seem tired and Rikimaru concluded that he must've come up here a thousand times for the priest to endure such a trip.

"This window, looking to the west, shows the Tirisfal Glades and everything below it."

Rikimaru noticed the darkness of the landmass in front of him. Thousands of kilometers of black rotting soil lay bare before him.

The priest continued, "Farther west lies the Great Ocean. From there, rumors arise of the return of the Horde."

"The Horde? I've heard of that before..."

The priest nodded. "It was during your father's time that the Horde left these lands. Just before the attack on the Burning Legion, the orcs fled to the western lands to seek refuge."

Rikimaru suddenly remembered in a flashback, a story that his mother had told him so many years ago. It was one of those legend-like tales that didn't seem real. It was said that the Orcish Horde, under the rule of a great orc warrior, left these lands shortly before the Undead came upon Lordaeron. A part of the Alliance also left Lordaeron and Rikimaru assumed, after much research that these two races fought under one banner against the might of the Burning Legion in another distant land.

"Why have they come back?" Rikimaru asked apprehensively.

"That is one rumor worth figuring out," the priest said. "Another rumor that is equally worth it is why the Alliance have followed them to these lands, too."

"The Alliance?! But that makes up all those who fled from the Burning Legion!"

"Exactly." the priest raised one stubby finger. "That's where you come in, Rikimaru. I need you to figure these two things out. Along the way, I think you'll also figure out the meaning of all this fighting."

Rikimaru looked dumbstruck. "You... ask me...?"

"As I have said, you are uniquely different from your kinsman, Rikimaru," the priest sighed a bit. "It is also time to live up to your father's standards."

"But..."

"It is late. And I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow morning. Good night, Rikimaru, son of Farimaru. You have my blessing."

Rikimaru had nothing else to say about the matter. He was utterly surprised to be suddenly tasked to do something for the priest. But as the old man began descending the one thousand three hundred forty-two steps down, Rikimaru couldn't help but think that this mission was his purpose in life after all...


	3. Nortrom

Chapter 2: **NORTROM**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

* * *

The elderly priest was swiftly walking down the stairs as if hurrying for something. The appearance of a satyr like Rikimaru was a significant breakthrough in his overall scheme. He had always known that the Alliance and the Horde would return. One day, these two races would leave the western continent and scour the remnants of these plagued lands. These two races would continue the war that was quite interrupted by the Burning Legion's invasion. It could be said that the orcs and humans were rivals in blood.

The elf priest continued the long walk down, finally reaching the dusty first floor. The world around him was quiet. It was almost the middle of the night and nothing around him stirred.

He stepped towards the door but stopped almost immediately. Something on his right hip was vibrating, glowing a bright green color. He reached through his robes and plucked out a green gem of magnificent aura. The dark first floor was suddenly bathed in fresh green light.

"Nortrom, what a surprise..."

The elf priest held out his green gem farther into the room and suddenly as if appearing out of thin air, a red-robed elf stood in front of the priest. The robed elf, like all elf priest accomplices, held a big red shield and hung a golden glaive on their backs. The only thing out of place in this robed elf's uniform was a shiny silver axe with crooked teeth for an edge. This axe was the most peculiar since it looked like a ghost of an axe than a true weapon.

"You wanted to meet me, Master?" the robed elf spoke in very low tones.

"Of course, but not here," the priest shook his head. "I was thinking talking with you in a more lush environment..."

"There was a satyr," the elf named Nortrom growled. "What was his business with you...?"

"You're quite curious, aren't you, Nortrom?"

Nortrom grunted. "I'll get straight to the point. Why did you call me for, Master?"

Nortrom spat as he pronounced that last word. This disrespect seemed normal with the priest as if he spoke like this to people everyday.

"I gave the satyr a mission," the priest began. "It's the same mission that I give to you..."

A vein pulsed on Nortrom's right temple. It was obvious that the elf was growing impatient. "I don't have time for your foolish games, Master. Just get to the point..."

"Didn't I tell you that the satyr had the same mission as you had..."

"What, you want me to go find that satyr?" Nortrom spoke as if this was the most outrageous idea he had ever heard.

The priest nodded. Nortrom's jaw dropped.

"What's the satyr's name?"

"It is for you to figure out, my accomplice. I believe it is time that you begin your own journey. It is time for you go independently from the hands of your guardians..."

Nortrom's eyes suddenly lit and there was a hungry look in his face. "Am I being initiated... as a Master?"

The priest sighed. "You have much to learn, Nortrom. Unless you have humility and patience, you cannot even hope to obtain an initiation from the Arcane Sanctum. I have taught you everything I know and your only hope of initiation lies within yourself. And so I send you on this perilous journey in the hopes that you would learn even more than I..."

Nortrom cried in outrage."No!! Give me one chance to be initiated! I won't fail!"

The priest shook his head and began to walk out.

"Master! I beg of you, Master!" Nortrom dropped his shield and axe on the floor and prostrated himself before the priest.

"You humiliate yourself on personal gain. How pitiful..." The priest sighed and left.

Nortrom lay there and searched for another reason for his failure to be initiated. He tried to put the blame on others but all his mistakes led to his own doing. There was no other reason.

Nortrom stood up. _I have to find this satyr..._

And he began the long walk up the stairs.

* * *

Rikimaru was still on the topmost floor of the West Tower. The landscape was still dark but a slight white haze was erupting from behind him. The sun would rise in a few hours. 

It was hard to believe that just after a war was just about to end, another would erupt. This time around, the orcs and humans would be back on board. _The Alliance and the Horde are rivals by blood..._

Rikimaru sighed at his reflection in the wide window. _And once again, the satyrs would be a part of this war..._

There was a sudden creaking from beneath him and Rikimaru jerked from his thoughts. The elf guards must be up early. If he was found in this floor all alone, one would think he was desecrating the sacred top floor...

Summoning power from his inner mana pool, he breathed a dark blue mist. The mist covered most of the floor and thus shielding Rikimaru from view.

A red robed figure emerged on the floor coughing loudly from all the mist. "Hello, anybody here?"

Summoning more energy from his mana pool, Rikimaru attempted to do his Blink Strike move which would make him disappear and strike his opponent in one second.

But his mana pool transferal was suddenly interrupted when a sudden burst of energy erupted from the robed figure. The energy was sufficient to knock out the connection of Rikimaru and his mana pool.

"Show yourself, satyr! I know you're there!"

Rikimaru did not show himself. He was attempting to collect power from his mana pool and failure in doing so would mean not being able to sustain the smokescreen he placed. Slowly, his blue mist was deteriorating...

Rikimaru grunted. He'd have to deal with this manually, something he didn't get to do often.

The mist was on the verge of disappearing when Rikimaru struck. His sharp scythe pierced the elf's armor almost reaching skin. The elf stumbled over toppling down the stairs along with Rikimaru.

The elf immediately grappled Rikimaru's forehead transferring a curse into the satyr's system. Rikimaru writhed in agony. His mana pool bubbled intensely but he could not reach it, to soothe it from its pain...

The elf stood above him rubbing the side of his back where the scythe pierced through the armor. "Good thing, I'm in a good mood or I would've killed you. Don't worry those spells would wear off..."

Rikimaru was still groaning but the agony was slowly wearing off and the prospect of reaching his mana pool looked none to impossible anymore.

"I think you've met my Master." The elf reached out a hand to help the satyr up. "We met by the first floor."

"What do you want?" Rikimaru blurted out.

"I am Nortrom, a Silencer from the Arcane Sanctum," the elf said smoothly. "I came under the Master's orders."

"I've never heard of such a specialty," Rikimaru screwed up his eyes in suspicion. "There is no such thing as a Silencer."

"The Silencer project's quite confidential. The elders are experimenting a new branch of magic for us elves."

"I'm still not convinced. You may be an elf guard trying to fool me into following you." Rikimaru's eyes suddenly bulged. He should incapacitate this guy!

"You don't want me to curse you, do you?" the Silencer said threateningly.

"You have no idea what you're messing with, elf..." Rikimaru was on the verge of using his Blink Strike before the same wave of energy swept over him again, blocking connections with his mana pool.

"That is one irritating curse. I'm Rikimaru." Rikimaru said, giving up all attempts to cripple this elf. He was very good.

"It's a handy spell I call Global Silence, Rikimaru. Now, to business..."

"What information do you need?"

"My Master has sent us to do something," Nortrom said. "He wasn't keen on details so I'm here to question you on it."

Rikimaru looked through the wide window once more. If there was someone strong to accompany him, it would be this guy...


	4. The Campaign of the Scourge

Chapter 3: **THE CAMPAIGN OF THE SCOURGE**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

**

* * *

**

**Icecrown Glacier, Northrend**

The dawn marked the beginning of something new for the Scourge. It was the final day of the month. This meant that the new batch of reinforcements from Northrend would come and bolster the ranks of the oppressed undead force in the south.

The reinforcements were set to leave Northrend on that day and would arrive the day after that. This force was led by a literally otherworldly character: Abbadon, a Death Knight newly-appointed. Abbadon came from the world of Avernus and was the corrupted king of those lands. He was a tyrant and as tyrants always had, he died in the hands of his people. But his soul lingered along, coincidentally reaching the world of Azeroth thus going under the charge of the Lich King.

Abbadon was a new breed of Death Knight. He had powers no other Death Knight have received from the beloved Lich King. Abbadon's skin however was as pale as any Death Knight. His sword, a forged replica of the Lich King's Frostmourne gleamed at his every touch.

"Once more, I give my greatest thanks that a King greater than I has seen to it that I live a second chance," Abbadon bowed lowly in front of the Lich King. "The reinforcements have been readied as you have ordered them to be. Very soon, we would take off for Lordaeron, also as you requested."

"You are my greatest servant, Abbadon," the cold voice of the Lich King resounded. "Many more fallen kings shall follow your example, I am quite sure..."

"It is my pleasure to be called so, my King," Abbadon drawled on. "But I believe that you have summoned me here for far greater reasons, am I correct?"

"Very good, Abbadon." the Lich King chuckled releasing an icy cold breath. "I now see the advantages of fallen kings as servants. You are correct, my servant. I have already set eyes upon an aspiring servant. But I cannot reach him. He lives along the Ethereal Plane and only the accursed Night Elves can gain access to these places. He is a servant that would aid us in our goals."

"I have heard countlessly of these moon-worshipers, but never of an Ethereal Plane..."

"That is not a problem," the Lich King adjusted comfortably in his seat. "The only thing you need is a guide. Abbadon, Lord of Avernus, I bring you my greatest weapon: _Leshrac_."

The winds suddenly swept over the Frozen Throne. The cold mixture of wind, sleet and hail did not alter the already adapted Abbadon. He even grinned as he heard the slow trotting in the snow: the arrival of the Lich King's monster.

A ghost-like figure stood in front of them. It had the body of a man, a face of a man but everything beneath its torso was horse-like. There were small horns on his head and for the first time, Abbadon felt fear inside him.

"You... called..." There was a certain pain in the way it spoke. Abbadon could sense that it feared the Lich King like any mere mortal would.

"I give you a mission, Leshrac," the Lich King was smiling as if enjoying the torment he was causing this creature. "You are bound to my will..."

"I... will... guide him..." the creature's voice was still shaky.

"Abbadon, this is my greatest achievement," the Lich King gesticulated. "Leshrac the Malicious is the tormented will of the Night Elf Demigod, Cenarius. I was able to extract his powers upon his death and transfer it into one of the souls I acquired in this region. He has quite unique strengths and would aid you in your quest to find this aspiring servant of mine."

Abbadon stared at his new companion. He looked weak, but if he was under the Lich King's control, he could be even stronger than he.

"Your will be done, my King..." Abbadon closed his eyes and bowed.

**

* * *

**

**Southern Border between Tirisfal Glades and the Capital City, Lordaeron**

The Undead Civil War was actually composed of more than two factors. It used to be that the major battles were just between the Undead Forsaken and the Undead Scourge. These days, with the liberation of Quel'Thalas from the Scourge, the undead face a new enemy: the Elf-Satyr Union. At first, this was taken lightly by both factions but now seeing its great achievement of liberating the elven country, it was a threat as big as any of the undead armies..

The leader of the very unlucky Scourge campaign in Lordaeron was none other than the Lich Kel'Thuzad. He had a very fruitful history concerning the wizards of Dalaran and the ziggurats of Northrend but that's another story. For the fast five years, Kel'Thuzad has always been busy with war. The rebellion of Sylvanas Windrunner and her banshees was something unexpected and rather frustrating.

Kel'Thuzad who thought the outbreak could be suppressed by his charges was very much mistaken. With his base of operations being Quel'Thalas, he fought the rising Forsaken with best of his ability. But even so, Sylvanas and his armies won the Capital City and thus getting control over most of the land.

Kel'Thuzad knew that Sylvanas would never get through the Inner and Outer Gates of Quel'Thalas and thus started building an army within its walls. But another factor suddenly entered the story. The Elf-Satyr Union broke through the gates and fought of the Scourge. Kel'Thuzad was forced to flee west into the Tirisfal Glades where he was cornered from all sides. By far, Kel'Thuzad saw himself as the unluckiest person in the history of Azeroth disregarding the Guardian Medivh.

For the past few weeks, the Scourge was barely winning the various skirmishes between the ESU and the Forsaken. Hopefully, the new batch of reinforcements would strengthen their campaign against the Scourge's enemies.

On that day, the final day of the month, Kel'Thuzad suddenly realized the big shortage of troops fighting in the south border of Tirisfal Glades. This was the first time this event happened in his whole campaign. More importantly, this would the first time in over a year that he would be fighting alongside his men on the battlefield.

Upon hearing the news, Kel'Thuzad didn't know if he would be scared or satisfied with the way things were going. By the end, he settled with just being apprehensive about the whole thing. I mean, who wouldn't be in his position?

* * *

Kel'Thuzad stood in gleaming armor, ready to give orders to his set of ghouls and necromancers. In the horizon, the Forsaken's forces were climbing among the hills and forests ready to strike and win. 

"Necromancers!" Kel'Thuzad called, readying the force of skeletal minions in attacking. The forces were slowly moving. And when they reach over the nearest hill, Kel'Thuzad called, "Go!"

Simultaneously, hundreds of skeletal warriors raised from the pile of dead bodies the meat wagons had set up. The power nearly took up most of the pile. The skeletal minions ran swiftly towards the incoming forces ready to meet them head on.

The ghouls of the Forsaken were first to meet them. The hundred or so undead warriors bit, scratched, and slammed the skeletal minions to pieces. But that wasn't all. Meat wagons from behind hurled remnants of corpses onto the skeleton crowd. The corpses fell by the dozen each incapacitating two or more skeletal warriors.

Kel'Thuzad was surprised by the swift decrease in their undead force. "Necromancers! They're coming closer! Send in more skeleton! Ghouls, get ready!"

The enemy undead were literally eating through their skeleton warrior defense. This was a fight that was never before witnessed by the campaign leader, Kel'Thuzad. Soon, he would get involved and things would eventually get nastier...

For a few intense minutes, the skeleton barricade was holding quite well. But soon, the ghouls who never seemed to decrease were breaking through. The first of them crashed head on with a necromancer, swiping away the latter's staff and immediately began feasting on the necromancer.

_This has got to be a first. Undead eating undead... _Kel'Thuzad immediately incapacitated the ghoul with one blast of icy frost. "Ghouls! Attack! Show no mercy."

Kel'Thuzad's ghouls were all eager to eat and feast on the enemy as well and immediately jumped when the order was given. The necromancers had retreated from the front lines and now raised the skeleton warriors from behind the blood-thirsty ghouls. Kel'Thuzad joined the battle, blasting any undead foe in sight.

_We're winning... _Kel'Thuzad was chuckled appreciatively. His powers add up to the overall strength of this battalion. He really should fight the wars more often...

But like all those who believe that the tables are turned unto them, something unexpected comes into the picture.

It came in the form of an arrow of dark aura and nearly pierced the protective armor of the Lich. If not for the Vanguard relic armor he wore for that day, he might've died all together. Nevertheless, the arrow was sufficient enough to knock him off his balance. He stumbled over like a pole crashing down. His forehead hit the ground with a dull thud; something broke. Whoever managed to do this would have to pay for their insolence.

Kel'Thuzad stood up and covered himself in thick icy armor. "Show yourself, coward!"

From a tree behind the Lich, a gray-skinned maiden, slipped down. She had dark red eyes, a black cloak and blue hair. Slung behind her was a long bow fit with a dozen or so arrows. Kel'Thuzad had not seen this woman for a very long time...

"Look who's talking, Lich," Sylvanas Windrunner laughed, walking up to Kel'Thuzad. "I'm not the one who covered himself with ice armor..." She gave a mirthless cry of delight.

"I would blast you into oblivion, Sylvanas."

"I'd like to see you try..." A wave of energy sparked from the maiden archer and descended upon the Lich. His mana pool prowess was instantly closed.

"You are one damning woman, Sylvanas," Kel'Thuzad said as he played with his ice waves. The waves circled around his fist threating to hit the maiden in front of him. "I always wonder why Arthas even raised you..."

Sylvanas reacted and withdrew her bow and arrows. "I think you know what I'm capable of, Lich."

"Very empty threats, my old acquaintance," Kel'Thuzad continued on playing with his ice wave. "I believe it is I who has an army behind my back."

Immediately, a dozen ghouls came scurrying to back up the Lich. A couple of necromancers also arrived. They surrounded the maiden archer and covered all possible exit routes.

Sylvanas seemed to do some critical thinking, because she was now looking at every one of Kel'Thuzad's troops.

"If there's somebody here with the upper hand, it is I, Lich..." she said quite slowly. And she was right.

Instantly, a dozen or so banshees popped up and surrounded the circle of Scourge Undead. They were actually outnumbered. And without further ado, the banshees possessed Kel'Thuzad's Scourge lackeys and a fight ensued.

Ghouls here and there were suddenly jumping upon another. Different sided skeleton minions were being raised by both possessed and Scourge necromancers. What was a conversation now developed into an all-out brawl.

Amidst this, Sylvanas did what heroes of war do when a battle suddenly sparks in front of them: run away into a safe distance. With her bow still clasped in her hand, she let fly a couple of arrows, piercing a ghoul twice in the gut. She fled swiftly and disappeared from view.

The same ghoul Sylvanas hit was immediately affected by the dark poisoning of the arrow and a Dark Minion began piercing through the rotting skin. It was an ugly sight. First, came the Minion's head and it erupted from the ghoul's mouth breaking the jaw and the skull. The Minion crawled out, breaking more bones in the ghoul's body. With blood and gore, the Minion mercilessly butchered the ghoul from within and with a final kick, it left a pile of decomposed skin and bone...

Kel'Thuzad was utterly disgusted by this and resolved to end the reign of Sylvanas Windrunner. But first, he had to win this war. After crushing the newly-born Minion with a sharp Frost Nova, he looked around at his troops. With the appearance of banshees here and there, the number of Scourge forces took a dip down. The Forsaken outnumbered them two to one. This was a fight they cannot win and Kel'Thuzad knew it.

_I wish Arthas were here. He's naturally a better fighter than I am..._ Kel'Thuzad couldn't help thinking it. Indeed, his old friend had better war strategies and would have known what to do at this situation.

Then a voice erupted from within his own mind. It was the Lich King calling unto him. _Kel'Thuzad, you are still faithful to me._

_Master, I need help from your champion._ Kel'Thuzad thought out loud for the Lich King to hear.

_Your champion is within me, Lich. We have joined to form one entity, the ultimate form of the Lich King. In this new form, new power is granted unto me. You have been very loyal to me from the very beginning, Kel'Thuzad. _

And suddenly Kel'Thuzad felt a curious sensation run through him. It first came from the tips of his fingers and rapidly began climbing up his arms. It reached his forehead and suddenly he felt a cold rush of power in his inner mana pool. The powers of death and decay given to him at the beginning were now unimportant to him. What was of more significance now was his connection with the Frozen Throne, his connection to the frozen world of the dead. He had now acquired power no other Lich had...

Kel'Thuzad summoned the energy and all hell broke lose. A chain of icy wind rushed through everything around him. The enemy Forsaken, his remaining Scourge troops, the plants, trees and animals were all affected by this cold rush of wind. And Kel'Thuzad's surroundings froze. All things around him were now trapped in glaciers of ice.

Kel'Thuzad's wish had come true.


	5. Forsaken Affairs

Chapter 4: **FORSAKEN AFFAIRS**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

* * *

**Capital City (Or the Undercity), Lordaeron**

Sylvanas was not a coward. By all means, she would've charged at an enemy fortress by herself if need be. She was a confident archer and even if the Lich King had ripped her life apart, her former elven cunning was still burning within her.

Why then, did she run when she knew that she had cornered the Lich Kel'Thuzad in a one-sided battle? The answer to this question takes us to a Forsaken outpost south of the Tirisfal Glades southern border.

A group of banshees were casually gliding around the citadel grounds as if waiting for something. Mere seconds later, a bright blue beam erupted from the sky. It charged the citadel with force and their mistress appeared slowly out of the beam.

Sylvanas Windrunner stared around at the group of banshees before her and declared, "Is this about my son?"

The banshees looked at one another. Soon, they were united in nodding their ghostly heads.

"He has become stubborn, madam," one banshee spoke up. "He follows no one but you."

"He has his father's looks but his mother's cunning. I shall talk to him." Sylvanas walked out of the group and headed towards the Altar where her son would most probably be found..

True enough, a large winged creature, very much like a dreadlord was lying prostrated in front of the Altar. The form of Balanar was intriguing because he had a the distorted features of his father, Varimathras but the elvish looks of his mother. He seemed to be intensely worshipping the figure of the Lich King, which wasn't supposed to be practiced at all. Statues of the Lich King such as this were only power points for reviving the souls of heroes.

Sylvanas walked up to him making as much noise as possible on the concrete floor. Balanar did not budge.

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "Balanar."

Balanar was startled and looked around. Upon seeing the form of his mother, he immediately stood up. "Mother..."

Balanar was a few heads taller than she. Sylvanas was actually pleased by this, but she reserved this compliment for some other, more convenient time.

"My sister banshees spot you here for a long time. Are you worshipping the Lich King?" There was a certain reprimand in her voice as if this accusation was already proven true.

"My loyalties lie with Nathrezim. Father taught me so." Balanar told his small mother.

"Your father was a fool. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have agreed into forming up an heir to the Forsaken throne. Know where your loyalties lie, son." Sylvanas' voice was harder than usual.

"I look like my father. I am fit enough to be considered 'Dreadlord'."

"But through your veins runs the blood of a renegade witch. The Nathrezim will never allow you into them with the blood such as yours!" Sylvanas triumphantly exclaimed.

Balanar looked away from his mother. It was this whole forsaken bloodline of his. Will the Nathrezim ever accept him only because of similar looks?

"You are bound to me as well as to your father." Sylvanas said, staring at the face of her son. "It is ultimately your choice in deciding what to believe. You are privileged to have a free soul, free from the Lich King's grasp. Remember, Balanar, that I have given you this trait."

Balanar was listening but dare not look into his mother's eyes. She did not feel what he was feeling now.

"I need you on the field, Balanar." Sylvanas said in an almost pleading voice. "Your powers are formidable and can be used to our advantage."

And with that, Sylvanas left, thinking very deeply on the conversation with her son.

* * *

Balanar stood there for a long time, staring at the place where his mother had disappeared. She did not know how he was feeling. The Nathrezim was his real family, his father had been so. 

Balanar stared into the face of the idol behind him. He knew that the Lich King wasn't his real master, but with his mother breathing down his neck, this was the only access he had to the Burning Legion. For the past few weeks, he had been searching for some way to contact his fellows Dreadlords and never paused for thought of the consequences that his differences in appearance and skill would cause.

But, now, the topic had been brought up. What would the Dreadlords think, when they tested his abilities and found out he had not inherited any of his father's skills?

Balanar felt anger bubble inside him, unconsciously causing a second's worth of eclipse. It was all his mother's fault. She had predicted this and had caged him even before Balanar thought of escaping!

He wracked his brain for any means to escape and not rouse his mother's suspicions. He could not think of any. Balanar stared at the Lich King long and hard. An answer came to him, but his immediate thought was that it would be suicidal if his assumptions were false.

Balanar bowed his way out of the Altar grounds before briskly walking towards the gates of the citadel. The only way to contact the Nathrezim was to plead with the Lich King himself. In that case, he would have to ditch his mother and her Forsaken army completely! He had to put his mother out of the picture...

Balanar stopped and thought. Was he so selfish that he would kill his own mother? Was he prepared for the consequences of his actions? Was he sure that the Dreadlords would accept him as he is?

He was not sure of any of these actions. He was not sure of anything at all. But he resolved to decide for the evening. After all, he is the Night Stalker.

* * *

Balanar shut himself from the rest of the crowd in order to concentrate on his decision. He must apply all possible consequences for each action he was about to take. This was difficult considering all possible scenarios that could develop from this plan of his. 

The hours trickled by and the bright lights flashing from the window grew dimmer and dimmer until a dark red color filled the sky. And still Balanar had not decided.

It was down to one question: Who did he value more? His ambition or his mother?

If he chose to end his mother's life and pursue the career he had been aiming all his life, he could end up either victorious or dead. But if he continued to struggle in his mother's arms like a baby, he would sooner or later commit suicide for his lack of purpose in life.

Balanar closed his eyes and let the darkness sink through him. This soothing action strengthened his resolve. The Nathrezim were his true family. His mother was barring his way and must be eliminated.

* * *

**Kel'Thuzad's Base Camp, Tirisfal-Capital South Border**

Sylvanas Windrunner had arrived at the scene of battle via Sky Barge. The mechanical transport ship was slow but very reliable in bloody ambushes. The Barges could drop any unit into an enemy site unseen and the Undead would do what they do best: killing.

This is exactly what Sylvanas was trying to do. She had heard from her intelligence networks, that the Lich was staying by the Tirisfal Border Encapment for this night and then would be moved out to the ESU battles to the east by the next morning. This was her one chance to duel with the Lich one-on-one and she would not let the chance miss.

The Barge dropped her off, noiselessly in a dense forest which surrounded the Scourge camp. Lights from the encampment buzzed into her ears. The cries of torture and death punctured the night air soothing the mind of Sylvanas. She was Undead after all...

She crouched behind a clump of dense bushes and readied her bow. As she suspected, a scout in the form of a necromancer was patrolling the outskirts of the camp. If she were seen, the necromancer would send some skeletal warriors to raise the alarm.

She cautiously armed the bow with one of her arrows and poured in some dark powers into her shot. With her mana pool bubbling a bit, she pulled the string and let the arrow fly. It hit its mark, consuming the trembling necromancer.

The blood-bathed Minion appeared before her, ready to follow the given instructions.

"Follow me. Kill any other who feels our presence." Sylvanas then urged the Minion to follow her.

Together they crept into the center of the camp. Every now and then, ghouls and necromancers would appear making Sylvanas stop in the process. But she would resume her pace and walk again, the Minion clattering behind her.

They eventually reached the center camp. The center tent looked strikingly similar to a necropolis and it even seemed to have the stone statues spitting out the Undead sewage. Then again, she did see a tent back there that looked like a crypt.

The Minion was still following Sylvanas and since they made it safely to the center, she discharged it from service. Sylvanas left the pile of bones and headed for the side of the necropolis-tent. She could hear the voice of Kel'Thuzad speaking to two others with him: one was a tall human figure, while the other was a four-legged creature.

"— a servant?" the Lich's echoing voice loomed into hearing range.

"Yes, Lich," an arrogant voice very human-like sounded. "The _horse_ and I were sent to find him. Do you know of such a place to gain contact with it?"

"Let me clarify first," Kel'Thuzad seemed uneasy with the crowd he was with. "The... err... _horse_ will the contact this servant of his?"

"How many times do you need telling, Lich?" the same arrogant voice shouted along with a fist pounding on a tabletop. "That is our mission. And if you can't help us, we will be off."

There was moment's silence where Kel'Thuzad seemed to be thinking deeply. Then he spoke, "The ruins of Alterac. There was an old myth from the humans, that that place was a sacred ground where creatures from another world would take a misted presence. If that is not related to your search, I have nothing else to tell you."

"Alterac ruins?" the arrogant voice spoke once more. "That seems a place to start our search. We apologize for barging in on your sweet time, Lich. We'll be leaving." The voice turned to his companion. "Let's go, Leshrac."

The two of them departed from the tent. Sylvanas caught a glimpse of a Death Knight judging from the usual dead horse that they ride. The other was a horned creature, half man and half horse. The creature looked transparent and Sylvanas assumed that this was one of the Lich King's Tormented Soul servitors that she kept hearing about.

Taking no chances, she waited for the two of them to leave the camp before going in for the kill by which time the Lich had turned off the lamplight and had gone off to rest.

Sylvanas entered the tent without noise and searched for the Lich's coldcoffin, the bed for creatures such as they. The coffin was leaned upright by the tent wall. Kel'Thuzad's figure as just standing there, asleep. Sylvanas adjusted her bow and arrow. One quick shot to the heart and the Scourge campaign would be over. But still, there was the two strangers sent by the Lich King to worry about...

She pulled the string and aimed. Then it happened.

A sudden intense pain within her erupted. It wasn't anything she had ever felt before. The pain was so intense she lost control of her arrow firing it straight through the tent and ripping the canvas.

The Lich jerked awake and gasped when he saw Sylvanas on the floor. He burst through the coffin and glided towards her. "Were you meaning to assassinate me?"

"Stop it, Lich, stop it." Sylvanas' face was contorted in rage and fury.

"I have done nothing." Kel'Thuzad spoke innocently. "But I must thank the one causing you immense pain."

He whirled around to find no one in the room except them both. But Kel'Thuzad felt a strong presence of somebody else nearby. He could feel the magic connecting Sylvanas with her captor. "Show yourself! Only a coward hides from encounter!"

"Calm down, Lich," a voice cold and malicious spoke up from the shadows. "I just came for my mother."

"Who are you?" the Lich was still unconvinced. "What mother?"

Kel'Thuzad could not understand. Something felt eerie in this situation. Mother? Was the voice talking about Sylvanas?

A brief rustle of grass came from outside. A shadow of something huge could be seen through the canvas. The form was oddly familiar. It looked pretty much like a...

"Dreadlord..." Kel'Thuzad whispered loudly.

A dreadlord-like creature entered into the tent. It had some distorted features but the resemblance was unnerving. "Thanks for the compliment, but I'm no dreadlord."

It took the Lich a couple of minutes to process the information and put the pieces of the puzzle together. The mystery person just stood there, waiting for him to figure it all out.

Then Kel'Thuzad whispered. "No, it can't be. That's outrageous."

"But it's true, Lich." the dreadlord-like creature said calmly as if this was an organized meeting between the three of them. "I am Balanar, son of Varimathras! I came here this night to end my long slavery to the Forsaken. Tonight, I renounce my old ways!"

Sylvanas was just staring at her son at this point but her son's sudden appearance could only mean one thing: her death. "Son, think about it! I'm your mother!"

"My family are the Nathrezim." Balanar reasoned out. "The Forsaken mean nothing to me now!"

"Son!" Sylvanas pleaded. Kel'Thuzad was just standing there waiting for the end to happen. "Son, I would do anything! Anything! Spare me!"

"I have resisted you long enough, mother." Balanar's hatred seemed to be pouring out of him. "Goodbye."

Then with a swift slash of a claw, Sylvanas was sprawled on the floor, dead.

The Dreadlord-Elf hybrid turned towards the Lich, wiping his bloodied hand upon his clothes. Kel'Thuzad looked very pleased with how events had turned out.

"I should say that the Lich King is _very_ pleased at the moment." Kel'Thuzad spoke up. Immediately, Balanar grinned. This was one big step to victory for him...


	6. The Destined Fate

Chapter 5: **THE DESTINED FATE**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

* * *

**Quel'Thalas-Tirisfal Border**

For a couple of days, the two agents hired by the Quel'Thalas messenger have traveled far into the western area of Tirisfal Glades. Their first aim in discovering the whereabouts of the Alliance and the Horde had to start somewhere and that somewhere had to be by the coasts of Lordaeron. Nortrom had reasoned out to Rikimaru that the coasts were the best place to start.

The crisp morning air brought a strange stench to the duo's campsite. It was the smell of something decaying nearby. The smell instantly woke the resting satyr.

"Nortrom!" Rikimaru jumped out of his tent and screamed into the camp. "Nortrom!"

In the other tent, the elf stirred but was still oblivious to the deathly aroma. "Nortrom! Get up!" the satyr cried, barging into the tent and shaking him awake.

Nortrom jerked awake and the smell suddenly filled his nostrils. "Rikimaru?! What happened? What's rotting?"

"Exactly!" Rikimaru cried running outside and pinching his nose. "But I have a rough guess on what this could be."

Nortrom left the tent with his weapons on his shoulder. "What is it, then?"

Rikimaru scanned around the hill that their camp was located. The stench seemed to come from all directions. "Undead."

"Scourge?" Nortrom joined Rikimaru in his search for the armies of the dead.

"Most likely." Rikimaru squinted to see further. His head went around the camp trying to look for the source...

And there, beyond the countless tress, an icy blast erupted, a blast that can only be created by none other than a Frost Wyrm. Using a compass, Rikimaru checked the direction of that area.

"Southwest, Nortrom." Rikimaru looked up at his friend. "What do you think we should do?"

"We could go the long way round." Nortrom was rubbing his chin with his fingers as he glanced at their puny supplies. "But it might be possible to loot that place. We need more supplies if we want to reach the coast. And frankly, I got the feeling that our journey won't be over even if we get to the coast properly."

"Well, I'm game." Rikimaru said. "I also haven't had a chance to practice my spells properly since that fight at that Silvermoon tower."

Nortrom picked up his stuff. "Let's go, then."

The dense forests that bordered Quel'Thalas and Tirisfal Glades held many astounding creatures, both friendly and dangerous. It was in these places that brought back memories for Rikimaru. This was his home before they got Silvermoon. This was the pure blood satyr's realm long ago. And he can't help wondering what happened to that forsaken race. Was he the only survivor? It was hard to imagine.

Nortrom who was a city elf all his life, did not appeal with the surroundings. Every crack of a twig, every hoot of an owl made him twitchy and paranoid. He never dreamed of ever journeying like this, hidden among the trees. But this was the only way to go into enemy territory unseen, especially if your enemy was the undead.

The trip for the nearby Undead camp took nearly most of the day. It made Rikimaru worry that they would miss their chance to raid the camp because their enemies could leave at any moment.

But on their arrival, the camp was still there, filled to the brim with monsters of every kind that the Lich King could think of. The smell was more horrid than it was back on the hill. Rikimaru didn't like it. So did Nortrom.

The duo gasped at the immensity of the place. The Undead camp was a real camp with a Crypt and a Necropolis. It was busy even as the night drew nearer. Acolytes here and there were working endlessly, mending broken Meat Wagons or repairing the Crypts.

After a couple of circles around the camp, the two decided that the place was too heavily guarded. They had to break in purposefully. But that didn't mean breaking in noisily.

Rikimaru hid behind a clump of bushes waiting for an incoming necromancer. The magician didn't seem to know that they were there. That was good. When the necromancer was within range, Rikimaru used his Blink Strike, hitting the magician at the back. Normally, a planted alarm would alert for intruders but since Nortrom had his Global Silence power on, the alarm went down silently. (The alarm worked on the dying necromancer's mana pool. Upon death, it was supposed to ring but since the mana pool connection was cut off, the alarm did not go off)

"Nice job." Rikimaru whispered. "Come on."

The two went silently. They hid behind a shadow of a tent just in time before a gargoyle patrol soared overhead. That was close.

"Wait, Nortrom." Rikimaru suddenly had an idea. "Didn't you have that Edge artifact? That makes you invisible?"

"It's only temporary." Nortrom hissed back at Rikimaru. "And it requires some mana."

Rikimaru didn't know these facts. "That's too bad. Anyway, just in case we need a quick getaway, use it."

The two hurried over to another tent heading towards the outer tents. All they needed to do was to sneak in a couple of ziggurats to snatch some of the camp's supplies. For Rikimaru, this would be a piece of cake, since he had the ability to become invisible for most of the time. For Nortrom, his only edge was the Lothar's Edge and that didn't even give him permanent invisibility.

They found the perfect ziggurat somewhere near the northern side of the camp. The guards of the vicinity seemed to have taken a break. No undead was found for the meantime. It was time they took the chance.

"Don't follow me. Just cast Global Silence when you find the undead getting all active here. Then cover yourself with Lothar's Edge." Rikimaru burst out of his hiding spot and settled for invisibility. "I'll be back in a while."

Rikimaru left Nortrom and head straight for the ziggurat. The nearest Spirit Tower was no where nearby so his invisibility won't be revealed. True to his name, he stealthily trudged down the stairwell of the ziggurat. Cobwebs filled every inch of it. Behind each door, food fit for the army can be found. If there was one thing Rikimaru was glad of, it was the fact that the Undead's staple food was the cooked kind. Even if the undead feast on raw, they still had the ability to eat cooked.

Rikimaru filled his bag to the brim. So far, the coast up above was clear. He did not feel Nortrom's Global Silence. But the mission was far from over. They still had to get out of the base alive.

Rikimaru was scaling the staircase, still cloaked, when he heard the whisper of some necromancers outside the ziggurat. Rikimaru paused to listen.

"- an elf, you say?"

"I didn't know what I saw." the second necromancer whispered. "It looked like an elf but a second later, it faded away."

"You sure, you're okay?" the first necromancer laughed. "Hallucinating is the worst thing we can have during our guard shift."

"Fine, fine." the second necromancer sighed. "I'll go back to Lord Magnus to get relieved. I might've gone all hallucinating after helping excavate that artifact."

Rikimaru held his breath. The Scourge was able to excavate a magical artifact? This was serious news! If it turned out that the artifact would double the Undead's strength, it would be bad for the whole of ESU! He had to tell Nortrom of this.

Sliding out of the door as quite as possible, he head for Nortrom's hiding spot. Hopefully, the power of the Edge was not yet out. "Nortrom! You there?"

"I'm right here," Nortrom whispered back. "Did you hear about the..."

"Yes," Rikimaru interrupted. "We better get back to the woods to decide on what we'll do next."

They swiftly evaded the crowd of undead and reached a safe part of the forest. Nortrom unveiled himself. So did Rikimaru.

"I didn't know an artifact existed in this area," Rikimaru spoke up first. "I always thought artifacts existed farther south."

Nortrom's eyes grew dark. "This place holds dark magics. Our history books speak of an unknown power unsettled in Tirisfal Glades. Maybe this is what the ancestors were talking about."

"Well in any case, we have to check this development out and inform the ESU right away!" Rikimaru whispered. "For all we know, this could be a power the Undead could utilize!"

"I agree with you on that," Nortrom nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

**Temporary Undead Camp, Somewhere in Silverpine Forest**

Abbadon and Leshrac were having a bad time planning their trip to the ruins. There were two simple facts that hindered them from going into Lordamere lake and reaching Alterac. One, the Forsaken had heavily guarded this area with their troops since it contained the Undercity of Sylvanas Windrunner and the recently 'deceased' Varimathras. Two, going on a trip on the lake was a slow process and would increase their chance of getting caught by the Forsaken Navy. It was really difficult to plan such things when you had such pestering enemies...

But there was good news and it came from the Lich. Apparently, on the night of their departure from his temporary camp, the Forsaken leader, Sylvanas had fallen. It was even said that her son had killed her. The Forsaken really had bad family ties...

The Lich also said in his message, that the Forsaken's leadership had fallen into the hands of the traitor-son Balanar, a notably strong and unique dreadlord who wished nothing more than to return to his kind, the Nathrezim.

After much time spent on painstaking decision-making and analysis of effects each decision held, Abbadon and Leshrac had put this turn of events to their advantage.

"Bring... the messenger... in." Leshrac called through the tent canvas.

The necromancer tasked by Kel'Thuzad entered and bowed his way in.

"The Orb, messenger." Abbadon growled.

The necromancer fumbled with his robe and pulled out a glass sphere. It was the Orb used for official messenging. It could record an unlimited amount of message and could be stored for long periods until it would be revealed. The necromancer pulled it open so that the Orb could start recording.

Abbadon cleared his throat and spoke. "In the name of the King of the Lich, I bring humble greetings to you, Kel'Thuzad. You have brought me news that has helped me form a plan to execute the King's wishes. Leshrac has arranged with the King of the Lich to honor you, his friend and servant, with a gift only he can give. But for the King to fulfill his promises, you must do for us the following: The Dreadlord, Balanar will serve under us as long as we have not finished with the ruins of Alterac, then afterwards, he can have his freedom. The Dreadlord, Balanar must order his forces to surrender to the Scourge and merge the factions together. Focus, then, Kel'Thuzad, on both eastern and western borders for we have enemies to annihilate in Quel'Thalas and potential allies as well as enemies arriving from the distant lands of Kalimdor. Achieve these and you will be honored by the King of the Lich as he has not honored anyone before. In the name of the King, I bid you farewell and good luck on your endeavors. Hail the King of the Lich and may his cold blessings rain on us..."

The necromancer shut the Orb and left, bowing his way out of the tent. Abbadon looked at his companion. Things are turning out good for them...

* * *

**Quel'Thalas-Tirisfal Undead Camp**

The excavation site wasn't really hard to find. The Necropolis was right beside the place.

Nortrom, ever since he arrived at the camp, had felt the dark magics of the area churning through his essence. This was not good, whatever it was. Rikimaru, on the other hand, was more determined than ever. This new discovery might be the very reason for another war in Lordaeron!

The excavation site came in the form of a cave with a very eerie air in it. At the moment, the mouth of the cave was quite empty and there was no sign of undead in the area. It was too convenient for them...

"I feel bad, Rikimaru." Nortrom looked quite sick at the moment. "Could you go inside by yourself?"

Rikimaru shook his head. "You elves really have it bad for magical places, do you? Quite an irony..."

He left the elf outside and entered the cave slowly. Darkness immediately enveloped him. It was an unusual darkness, as if a fog of blackness was trying to strangle him.

Rikimaru inched forward and he suddenly remembered what Nortrom said about the dark magics of Tirisfal. The satyr stopped in his tracks. This could be one big trap. What if all those undead missing from the mouth of the cave was an omen?

Rikimaru looked back. He could not see anything at all. Everywhere, the dark fog covered him. He knew it. It was the end for him. He was driven into this cavern for the sole purpose of dying in the hands of the evil magic Nortrom had talked about.

Rikimaru closed his eyes, ready to accept death. He hoped it would be a painless death... And Rikimaru fell, down, down, down into an endless void...

Light suddenly filled Rikimaru's mind. It was unusual in all that darkness. Was he dead?

Rikimaru opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a lush garden where light flashed from an eternal sun above. It was a calming sight. It was paradise.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear someone weeping. It was a hysterical kind of weeping as if someone was close to laughing and crying at the same time. With all the light, Rikimaru couldn't really see who.

Then the weeping stopped, as if noticing Rikimaru's presence. "You must think I'm crazy."

Rikimaru still couldn't see who it was but he knew that the figure was quite huge. Nevertheless, it spoke gracefully and in a gentle way.

"If you must know, I'm on the edge of my essence," it said. "But don't listen to me..."

Rikimaru stayed silent.

"Do you know why you're here?" the figure said. "Do you know what will happen to the world of where you come from?"

Rikimaru knew nothing.

"I think not." the voice continued. "I don't know my purpose either. That makes the two of us."

Rikimaru still said nothing.

"Listen, Rikimaru," the voice hesitated, as if thinking if he would confide his secret to the satyr. "Bad things will happen to your world. I could feel it inching closer. A certain doom will fall and the whole of Azeroth will perish. I also have the feeling that I'll be involved in that mess. And..."

Rikimaru said nothing. He couldn't.

"Please, Rikimaru," the voice pleaded. "Go to Alterac Ruins... before..."

The voice began fading away. Rikimaru could not say anything. He felt his body falling fast, falling from a great height...


	7. Heroes of the Expeditions

Chapter 6: **HEROES OF THE EXPEDITIONS**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

* * *

**The Great Ocean, Off the Coast of Lordaeron**

A fleet of ships carrying a red insignia, sailed over the calm waters. They have been traveling for so long now and the sides of the ship, marked where hundreds of waves battered it. If the ships themselves did not look too nice, the passengers on board looked worse. The green-skinned creatures who were suppose to look a solid color of green had this pale tint. The tall blue creatures with them didn't look well either.

The leading ship named Grommash was headed by a troll with a long robe, a witch doctor by his looks. His name was Vol'jin. He had a long history with the orcs dating back to the time when his predecessor, Sen'jin was killed trying to free their green-skinned friends from the grasp of the Murlocs. After his death, Vol'jin had replaced him as leader of the Darkspear Tribe. The Burning Legion came forcing his brethren to fight for all of their freedom. It had cost his tribe much. Then, just a year previously, the war between the Alliance and the Horde erupted thus throwing the trolls in the fray once more.

Now, Vol'jin was tasked for this expedition of the Horde to propagate the war into the Undying lands and gain allies in the forsaken country. This was the plan Thrall had made and he was to execute it.

In the horizon, a dark misted forest could be seen. He had never been into Lordaeron before. His ancestors had always lived in the Maelstrom and ever since the orcs came, the Darkspear Tribe have experience journey upon journey. This was a feat he never thought of in his early childhood.

"I smell blood all over there." the orc beside him gave a wolf-like sniff, inhaling all the air as if he would live longer in doing it. "I might like the place better than Kalimdor..." The orc licked his lips.

"Don' get excited, Stryg, mon." Vol'jin didn't like the orc, but he was Grom's right hand man! Thrall had forced his service upon this expedition in order to show all people that demons such as he can be redeemed.

_Grom Hellscream can be redeemed but not this guy. I think that the first thing he'll do when arriving at Lordaeron is to seek the Undead. With them, his blood thirst would be sated. _Vol'jin thought deeply. This orc really disgusted him. Vol'jin would never dream of using his powers like this blood maniac.

"You can't order me around, troll." the orc grunted. "I'm the Bloodseeker. I have tasted Mannoroth's blood like most orcs but I alone have been overcome by it. Blood is my water, Vol'jin."

"You'll get your fill when us mon go down." Vol'jin said reassuringly, but deep inside he loathed the creature. "But I need to communicate, mon. Other ships."

"I'll do it." Strygwyr said reluctantly and plucked from his belt a light dagger. It was gleaming with faint light as if it wasn't there but existed. Strygwyr gripped the dagger's handle tightly and focused his thought on one of the other ships.

* * *

Strygwyr suddenly materialized in front of a troll on the deck of the Doomhammer. Both trolls, as far as Strygwyr knew were of Darkspear descent and were Vol'jin's most trusted followers. There was a tall gangly one, Rhasta and his muscular well-built friend, Huskar. Both were under Vol'jin's apprenticeship; they learned all their abilities from him. 

However, these two trolls did not share their master's hate for the orc. The three of them were on good terms with each other.

"Stryg, boss, mon," Huskar's greeting came. "How you gettin' on with a-reportin'?"

"Yeah, I need your report from the deck, Huskar." Strygwyr said as-a-matter-of-factly. "Where's Rhasta?"

"He's a-doodlin' in his lab'a'tory," Huskar said with a quick laugh afterward. "You don' a-disturb him. I'll be givin' a-reportin'."

"Very well." Strygwyr sighed, giving the report scroll to the troll. He really tired of doing stuff for the trolls. "Make it quick. I still need to check on Yurnero."

"Juggy-boss?" Huskar suddenly perked up and looked at Strygwyr from above the scroll.

Styrgwyr looked at Huskar. Juggy-boss? "Excuse me?"

"Yurnero," Huskar explained, staring back at the scroll. "He's a-Juggy-boss. Juggernaut-boss."

"Oh." Styrgwyr rolled his eyes. You really had to hand it to them. They make new words everytime. Strygwyr received the scroll back and looked at Huskar. "We're nearing Silverpine so better get ready. Make sure Rhasta knows."

"Sure, boss, mon." Huskar nodded in assurance.

Strygwyr resumed control of his dagger and stared at the final ship of the Horde fleet, the Barrenwatch.

* * *

Yurnero, or the "Juggy-boss" as Huskar put it, was a serious individual. He was actually a Blademaster during the war but his powers were affected when he drank the blood of Mannoroth. But do not be mistaken; his fate was not like Strygwyr's which wasn't at all lethargy. Yurnero did become a lethargic orc but his powers we're still affected. He still had that extreme strength which fueled the orcs when they were under influence of demon blood. 

Strygwyr respected Yurnero, something that wasn't really what he did. But it may be the fact that they both experience extreme side-effects from the demon blood that drew out this emotion.

"Master Yurnero," Strygwyr bowed low when he blinked into the ship's vicinity. "Vol'jin needs your report."

Yurnero who was always caught unawares by this strange behavior, leapt backward. "Strygwyr!"

"Sorry to surprise you, Master Yurnero." Strygwyr apologetically said. "I just need the report, that's all."

Yurnero looked at the orc with unease and then submitted. "Very well, very well. The scroll."

Strygwyr handed to him the piece of parchment and waited as he filled it up.

"Why do you call me 'Master', Strygwyr." Yurnero spoke as he wrote.

"I have profound respect for you." Strygwyr was still bowing low as he said this.

"Which is unusual for your kind." Yurnero commented.

Styrgwyr had no reply to this. He knew what Yurnero was talking about. He was being referred to as "another kind" because of his unusual lust for blood and his likeness to the chaotic orcs of long before.

"Here you go." Yurnero handed him the scroll. "I'm sure Vol'jin'll be happy. Are we close to Lordaeron?"

"We're nearing Silverpine, Mas ―" Strygwyr heard Yurnero sigh deep. "— ter."

Yurnero sighed more and dismissed the orc.

* * *

Using the magic aerial communication system, Luna Moonfang, the leader of the Night Elf ship Nordrassil, was sending a message to the other two ships following it. Purist Thunderwrath, aboard the ship Lothar, was receiving the message: _We're closing in... Meet at Nordrassil._

Purist looked over to the east. He was now approaching the land in which he came from. Being one of the humans who fled with Jaina Proudmoore, his wish was to return to his homeland and start a new life. But with the Undead having all their wars there, this was nigh impossible. Purist sighed and picked up the paladin mallet, his most trusted weapon. For a long time, his ambition was to be a paladin like his father but with the coming of the Burning Legion and the uprise of the Third War, he wasn't able to join the Silver Hand. In one way or another, he attempted to study the art but since he lacked information, he immersed himself in other arts of war thus producing his very unique skills.

The druid responsible for his magic aerial came into the room. He was carrying a tightly bundled-up scroll.

"Sir Thunderwrath," hebegan. "Mistress Luna sent for this scroll. I think it's a portal scroll."

"Of course," Purist said, collecting the scroll from the footman's hands. "Tell her that I'll be there in a while."

The druid went out of the room and resumed his position by the roof. Purist stood as he progressed upward. _Do the night elves complain when we order them?_

Purist continued outside and headed for the tip of the deck where he could visibly see the ship Nordrassil. He fumbled with the knot in which the scroll was tied. He was about to yank the scroll open when he heard a shout from somewhere behind.

"Purist!" It was female and judging by the pitch, a small person. Purist looked around to find the small yet stunning night elf Mirana Nightshade aboard the third ship, Emerald. She was astonishingly tiny without her stead, Saber the white tiger. "I'll unroll first. I"ll tell you something once were on Nordrassil."

Purist complied and waited as Mirana untied her portal scroll. Soon, runes flashed around the night elf and the channeling began. A few seconds later, Mirana had safely landed on Nordrassil, the now burnt out scroll clutched in her fingers.

_My turn_, Purist thought. He yanked away the last of the knot and waited as the runes took their place around him. No sooner than that, the sensation of nothingness crept over him and tugged him towards the spot on Nordrassil. In a flash of a second, he landed on the ship, the scroll now smoking and Mirana staring at him.

After smoothing out the crests on his shirt, he spoke up to the elf. "What's up?"

Mirana stared up at him. "I know why you came on this expedition. Jaina didn't want you to but you did."

"First name terms with Ms. Proudmoore?" Purist was mildly surprised. "Impressive. Especially for a night elf."

"Naturally," Mirana said indifferently. "All of the Sisterhood of Elune are on speaking terms with Jaina. But that's not the point. You shouldn't have come, Purist. You will find nothing except death in the lands we seek."

"And what if the Silver Hand is still alive?" Purist found that his voice was rising dramatically.

"That's impossible," Mirana waved her puny hand in front of Purist's face. "Arthas Menethil would have routed them all out. Jaina knows him, Purist. Paladins are now long extinct."

Anger bubbled inside Purist. If this was true, he won't rest until he defeated the Undead. They were the cause of all this!

"We came here for the Horde, not for anything else," Mirana said persistently. "Stick to that plan. Now come on. Let's go meet Luna before she gets really old."

Purist did not laugh but went nevertheless. The two of them reached the part of the deck where Luna stood amongst a dozen or so archers. A druid stood above all of them, prepared to use his powers as a magic aerial when need be.

Luna approached them and led the way into her quarters. It was quite cramped due to the big black panther she kept as a pet. It growled as they entered but didn't strike.

Luna weaved around to her desk and pulled out the map of the world of Azeroth. She pointed directly to the point northeast of Lordaeron. "Tirisfal Glades," she said. "We are currently about a hundred miles off its coast. We won't be landing until maybe dawn tomorrow. If we're lucky, we might get there tonight before midnight. We have information that the Scourge lies in the heart if the Glades. This makes us believe that the Horde would land there, but honestly, they may have landed anywhere."

"It's a good place to start." Mirana commented. Purist said nothing.

"_He's on the paladin thing again..._" Mirana whispered to Luna. She nodded in reply.

Purist grunted. "Do we have to do this job alone? Can't the elves help us?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the two night elves. Purist suddenly remembered the lineage of these two races were both the same, something the night elves despised.

"We don't have to ask help from anyone," Luna said darkly. "Especially from those bastards."

"Sorry, sensitive topic..." Purist grinned apologetically. "It was bound to come up anyway."

"That suddenly reminds me," Luna said still having that dark look on her face. "Under no circumstances should we intertwine ourselves with that race. I don't mean anything bad, but it's just the fact that we don't really like each other."

"Point taken," Purist said, still grinning. "Any more you want to say? I need to get back to my quarters."

Luna and Mirana looked at each other. "That's it I think," Luna said looking back at Purist. "Just get ready when you receive the landfall message."

"Sure." Purist said, walking out of the room, collecting another portal scroll along the way.

* * *

_The Magic Aerial Communication System was devised by the Alliance as an instant means for communication. It only required that two magicians (priest or druid) to connect their magical forces to exchange messages instantly. It's an effective way of communication, something that the Alliance has relied on for quite a while._


	8. The Black Spirits

Chapter 7: **THE BLACK SPIRITS**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

* * *

**The Alterac Region, Lordearon**

It took them a total of two days to travel in the beaten down paths through the Alterac Mountains. It seemed it was never used for at least a hundred years. This was advantageous for Rikimaru and Nortrom because their aim was to be isolated from society as possible. If anyone knew of their presence and their goals, it might endanger their lives and possibly the mission.

Ever since that event in the Undead camp, Rikimaru was determined as ever. He had woken up to find himself in the arms of his elf friend. Apparently, he had collapsed upon entry and was swallowed up by the darkness of the tomb. Nortrom recounted Rikimaru being spat out of the tomb. Nortrom had caught the satyr just in time.

The morning of the third day marked a beautiful sunrise. They had scaled most of the mountain range and they expected to see the ruins before noon. Rikimaru began to notice the downward slope which was getting steeper by the mile. They had to turn around before they reach a crevice or a cliff.

The two of them began their hike downward and around the steep slopes. The rocks and debris lying around made it almost impossible to have a safe trip to the bottom. Their estimations on reaching the city before noon were not exactly correct.

They ate lunch against a clump of trees because of the almost 90-degree slope down. They ate quick and in silence because this early, they felt the foreboding darkness of the area. Many had died here, many had perished in an all-too-necessary doom. This place seemed to have that spiritual presence.

They resumed their trek downward after packing their things. As they scrambled down the slope, the forest cleared up suddenly and an illuminating site filled their eyes. The majestic ruined gate of Alterac lay in front of them ten times their height. Beyond it, the rest of the ruined city was left in its devastated state. The presence of spirits here was far more overwhelming here than the mountains that surrounded the city. Here was where a long forgotten battle took place long long ago.

The two rushed down the slope at an exaggerated pace, excited to enter this strange land. They stumbled by the broken down front gate to inspect the ancient walls of Alterac.

Nortrom brushed aside some vines along one side of the wall. "We may probably be the first to enter this place since the Troll Wars."

"Be careful, Nortrom," Rikimaru said in an undertone. "This place may as easily fall apart."

Nortrom nodded and turned towards the gate. He crept slowly and looked through. He almost gasped. In front of him lay a massive wasteland, rocks, debris and old monuments litter the floor as if blasted apart by the Burning Legion. Now, Nortom could imagine what the world would look like if their world was indeed blasted apart by the Legion.

"What is it?" Rikimaru came slowly behind him. "Is it ―?"

Rikimaru's eyes grew wide as he began to take in the landscape. He drew a long deep breath. "What a place... what a place..."

"Are you sure you want to continue with this?" Nortrom piped up. "I mean, that vision of yours might mean nothing at all..."

"For the last time, Nortrom," Rikimaru piped back. "I know what I saw. It wasn't a hallucination or anything. It was clearer than anything I've ever dreamed..."

Nortrom sighed and gave in. Rikimaru better be correct with that vision of his...

They crept noiselessly onto the void, carefully making sure that the ruined stones remained untouched. The silence was infectious. It was pressing upon them like a giant hand squashing their very presence.

They arrived in the center of the city where a huge monument stood. It was tomb, a dozen or so meters high. It was ancient and great power emanated from within. For a long time, the two of them just stared at the monument drinking all the energies that seemed to seep from it. But soon their senses were starting to return.

Rikimaru stepped forward then hesitated. "Who should go in first?"

Nortrom sensed fear in his voice. He was fearful as well. "This place feels weird. I really should not have let myself be dragged by you..."

Rikimaru laughed, although it was obvious that it was a forced laugh. "We're here already, Nortrom. We have no choice but to move on. Our trip here will be a waste if we just leave..."

Nortrom sighed. He was about to reason out to Rikimaru when an audible splash reached their ears. It was a familiar sound with that of someone stepping on a puddle. Someone else was here, creeping up on them.

Instinctively, they pulled out their weapons, a glaive for Nortrom, a scythe for Rikimaru. Their eyes were wide and alert on any movements surrounding them.

They circled the tomb and found a wide puddle where apparently someone or something passed through. It was a muddy pool of water and the first thing that came into Rikimaru's mind was footprints.

"Nortom," Rikimaru whispered. "Let's look for tracks. It would've left some after skating over this mud..."

"You really think it's an animal?" Nortrom scanned the area around the pool, still aware of his surroundings.

Rikimaru shrugged as he bent over the mud pool, looking for tracks left by the _thing_. He saw nothing abnormal along the puddle. That was strange given that the splash really sounded like something passed through it...

Something moved pass Rikimaru's line of vision. It seemed to come from the pool itself. Curious, he checked the pool's contents. It was nothing but muddy water and some broken down rock sediments.

He resumed his scan for footprints but was almost immediately distracted by another disturbance from the pool. Something was amiss here. Something was going on within the pool. Rikimaru investigated the contents once more. The pool seemed to become less transparent. He couldn't see as clearly as he had a few seconds ago...

"Nortrom," Rikimaru said, thinking of a possible occurrence. But before he could continue, a loud splash came from the pool and a black transparent clawed hand emerged from its depths reaching out for Rikimaru's throat. Rikimaru blanched for a second before jerking away from the clawing arm.

"Rikimaru!" Nortrom called. "What's going on?"

The satyr lay still beyond the pool of muddy water as a ghostly figure erupted from within. It was nothing they had ever seen before. The figure rose and raised its ring of blades. With a swift motion, it struck and Rikimaru nearly got hit if he hadn't parried it with his scythe.

Nortrom yelled in an attempt to distract the creature. The figure turned around to Nortrom for a second before looking back at Rikimaru. Nortrom tossed his metal glaive with all his strength pouring all his thoughts and skill into it. There was a blast of light and the glaive was sent flying towards the creature enlarging itself in an exaggerated rate.

But it didn't hit the creature. Instead, it exploded in midair as if some barrier blocked the battle between the black figure and Rikimaru. Nortrom cursed and aimed another one at the creature.

Another black figure emerged from the explosion. It was the another creature with a similar form as the first. How many of them were they?

Rikimaru parried blow after blow from the creature standing above him. This event was totally freaking him out. Rikimaru reached into his mana pool and summoned energy to use his Blink Strike attack. In one second, he vanished; the next second, he sliced through the transparent armor of the creature straight in the back where the spine was supposed to be.

The creature knelt down and vanished into thin air. Rikimaru grinned. The creature wasn't as hard as he thought it was.

Rikimaru scanned the landscape for Nortrom and found him in a swords dance with another black creature of the same type. Rikimaru was utterly surprised. This was no ordinary pack of animals. These were assassins.

Rikimaru rushed to the fray and enveloped the area with a Smoke Screen hoping to buy time for Nortrom. It worked indeed because when Rikimaru reached his friend, Nortrom was already sending blow after blow against the creature.

Rikimaru summoned more of his energy and Blinked towards the creature aiming for the spine once more. He grinned as he struck but something unexpected came. Once Rikimaru's blade punched through the armor, the creature exploded!

The explosion sent the satyr flying through the air crashing into a pile of rocks. There was pain in his stomach as if he was struck in the belly by a knife.

Rikimaru fell to the ground, now unable to resist the pain. His last sight was the Smoke Screen disappearing and Nortrom falling to the ground.

* * *

For the past day, an Undead Battleship wove its way across Lordamere Lake. It was a private trip where the only occupants were the three Undead warriors, Abbadon, Leshrac and Balanar plus the ship crew. Balanar was a new addition to the Lich King's team and would prove useful to their trip to Alterac Ruins. The Lich, Kel'Thuzad, had struck a deal with the Night Stalker that he would be able to see the King once the Alterac mission was finished. Abaddon was not at all happy with this new addition to the group. How could the King favor Balanar more than he?

"My Lord..." the pained voice of the Tormented Soul erupted from behind Abaddon. "I know... what... troubles you..."

Abaddon eyed his ghostly companion with disgust. "So what if you know?! I wouldn't care less if you did!"

"He will... be disposed... of..." Leshrac said in a pleading sort of way. "The Nathrezim... are... the King's enemies... He.. would not want... someone like... Balanar... around."

"He would still steal some of our glory, Leshrac," Abaddon was obviously unconvinced. "He was not supposed to be part of this journey. Damn that Kel'Thuzad! He should not have dealed with one Dreadlord such as this!"

"He did... kill his mother..." Leshrac laughed shrilly but in obvious torment.

"Ah..." Abaddon grinned a bit. "That, indeed, is something to celebrate about. Sylvanas was becoming a nuisance. I thank Balanar a lot for exterminating that vermin of an Undead Elf."

"It was my pleasure, Lord Abaddon." Balanar stepped out of the shadows and spoke. "She was a stupid mother for trying to restrain the Dreadlord within me..."

"You really did hate her..." Abaddon laughed cruelly.

"But enough of my mother," Balanar spoke with a grin. "I need to know of our plan into Alterac Ruins..."

Abaddon looked at the dreadlord. "Plan? We need a plan? It's a desolate place, for Ner'zhul's sake!"

Balanar shook his head. "You are oblivious to the power of that place. Well, I expected as much, seeing that you two come from different worlds..."

"An empty city bearing power? Is that even possible?" Abaddon almost cried in exasperation.

"I have heard many tales from the mountain villages surrounding the ruins," Balanar sighed a bit. "The most prominent of all these legends was one of the Black Spirits. Tales speak of a mysterious tribe of dark ghostly figures called the Black Spirits. They haunt the ruins of the city and were said to guard the ancient tomb that lay within. These Black Spirits seem to channel forth a power allowing them to overcome any number of individuals crazy enough to stumble upon this ancient city. This is the true nature of the Black Spirits, an unlimited number of individuals sent to guard its ancient tombs..."

"I haven't heard nonsense greater than what you just said, Dreadlord," Abaddon said distastefully.

"Like I've just said earlier, I don't expect you to understand," Balanar turned to leave than paused. "By the way, I prefer the title 'Night Stalker', Master Abaddon."

Balanar walked away, leaving the Death kKnight speechless.

* * *

As the sun began dropping downward into the west, the undead ship anchored down by the coasts near Alterac. With this, the three heroes were able to set up camp in the old forests surrounding the city. They planned to attack in the dead of night, at the period when Balanar was the strongest. His powers, as the Lich animatedly tried to describe, were endless in the dark of night. 

And they waited until the sun dropped out of the sky, to be replaced by the white luminescent sphere glowing besides the faintly lighted stars in the sky.

Balanar bathed himself in the darkness, all together stimulating him and producing the all-too-effective adrenaline rush. He winked at his two companions indicating that he was ready for the night's mission.

All throughout the trip to ancient city, Balanar kept ahead, moving in and about the bushes making sure no one strayed in their path. This was the night, his favorite time of the day. He was indeed the Night Stalker...

Thus, they reached the city in this fashion. They encountered no one along the way although once or twice, a feeling of some ominous presence presented itself to them.

The western gates of Alterac laid in ruins from the Troll Wars of long ago. Abaddon grinned; he loved the smell of death in war no matter how long ago it took place. Alterac for him was not a sacred ground but a ruined old city gone from the maps and history books of recent times.

Balanar swiftly went to their side. He had been scouting around the city for any sign of life. "My friends, I found traces of a struggle. They seemed fresh, only a few hours past. Everywhere else is as quiet as a grave."

Abaddon was interested in the fight that seemed to have taken place not long ago. "Where are these traces found?"

Balanar looked at the death knight. "In the center, besides a high tomb of ominous power. It was there that I also felt some great eye watching over me. Someone else is here besides us. I believe the story of the Black Spirits is true, Abaddon."

"Black Spirit or not, we shall deal with them," Abaddon was ultimately confident. "The Lich King is always with us."

Balanar grunted as if disagreeing with this statement. Abaddon missed the gesture. Leshrac however was busy checking the ground for something.

"Leshrac," Balanar called.

"I see... some strange... prints... on the ground..." the Tormented Soul voiced out. "It is... a creature... native to... this land..."

Abaddon immediately ran beside Leshrac and checked the tracks for himself. Slowly, he rose. "A troll came by. That's unusual. Trolls usually come in packs not individually."

Balanar shared this opinion. "That is peculiar. But this does not help our position. In fact, it might hinder us more."

Leshrac looked at the both of them. "Then... we must... move quickly..."

"I agree," Abaddon nodded. "Time is of the essence. We must look for this place where we could connect with the Ethereal Plane."

"I suggest the center tomb." Balanar piped up. "It spills of hidden power. I felt it pouring out, ready to be used..."

They all agreed to this plan and immediately proceeded to the tomb with speed. They reached the tomb in a matter of minutes and were on the verge of climbing through the threshold when the ghostly figure of a dagger came flipping out of nowhere.

Balanar spotted it first and quickly ran out of sight. The other two however were not quick enough. The dagger pierced through both of them and the sudden feeling of nothingness resonated within them. They just sat there crippled in their defeat as if the world was restricted only to the black void that had appeared along with the dagger.

Balanar stood there in the dark trying to sink it all in. What had happened?

But before this was answered a large shriek pierced the air and a lone ghostly figure escaped from the depths of the tomb. It was a black figure with a dark transparency frightening beyond imagination. It viewed its victims from the threshold of the tomb before stepping on the void.

With a speed only rivaled by Balanar himself, the Black Spirit beared down on the two fallen heroes beating them with its ring of blades. Balanar just watched as his companions weakened under the Spirit's blows...

Then a spark of energy surged through the Night Stalker jumping immediately into the void and onto the Spirit. With a clash of claw and blade, sparks ignited from the blow. With all of Balanar's might, he pushed the Spirit away from Leshrac and Abaddon. Hoping against hope that the black void that imprisoned his companions would eventually subside, he continued his assault on the creature. His fury startled the Spirit and soon forced the creature to flee.

Balanar let the creature go, grinning wildly on the easy victory. He turned around and was surprised to find the Spirit bearing down on him like a beast towering over its prey. How many were they?

Balanar jumped backward a long distance away before conjuring the internal void that he had once used on his mother to attack the Spirit. It hit the creature squarely in the chest before exploding in a cloud of mist.

Balanar ran towards his companions and was glad that now they were both standing up with their weapons out. They were fighting two more of the Black Spirits!

With a series of complicated blows, aided with the frosty power of his Frostmourne blade, Abaddon easily wiped out the Spirit. Leshrac, with his ranged attack and Split Earth spell quickly defeated his Spirit enemy.

Abaddon sheathed his sword and faced the Night Stalker. "How many more are there?"

"I don't know," Balanar was still alert for any movement. "But we have to get down into the tomb immediately. Let's finish what we came here for before more Spirits appear."

Everybody consented and followed Balanar down the long staircase entrance of the tomb.


	9. Into The Tomb

Chapter 8: **INTO THE TOMB**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

* * *

Jah'Rakal arrived in the ruins of Alterac discovering immediately what haunted these areas. The Black Spirit that had knocked the two individuals unconscious was proving to be a very strong enemy. 

For a long time, Jah'rakal was on the search for the forest troll relic, the Manta Style. It was said to have been lost during the Troll Wars between the humans and the forest trolls. For a long time, his ancestors have been trying to find the place where this artifact was last seen. They were pretty much unsuccessful in their search, because of the fact that during the war, the trolls were widespread in Lordaeron.

But when Jah'rakal received the throne of the remaining forest troll dominion, he was able to establish a localized war between the neighboring satyrs of the land. This war was not really well-known since the civil war of the Undead had sparked up a few years ago. The war in all aspects yielded both good and bad results. For one, his army was defeated and the forest troll dominion crashed under his control. He fled, dethroned and deprived of his kingdom. In his fury, he was able to kill the satyr leader, Farimaru and lay hands on some valuable information about the hidden artifact, the Manta Style.

And thus, Jah'rakal had ventured into the wilderness, searching for this place, Alterac Ruins. He had never heard of such a place before. His assumption was that this place lay somewhere in the Alterac Mountains south of Stratlhome. It was a wide mountain range and would require at least a month to comb.

Jah'rakal was able to find the place in two months. It was an eerie place; here, his ancestors had died in the battle with the humans, he knew.

And so Jah'rakal stared in admiration at the Black Spirit's speed and agility. But he was not as gullible as the these two individuals who appeared to be an elf and a satyr. From his readings of Farimaru's compiled text, there was a lone guardian of the Tomb, the Spectre, able to form haunting images of itself and appear in front of the enemy half as strong as the Spectre itself.

Jah'rakal sighed as he saw the two warriors fall under the Spectre clone's power. How pathetic. He'd have to deal with this with his own powers.

The Troll Warlord, as he would like to be called (although he wasn't one anymore), jumped from his hiding place, alerting the towering black figure. He gripped his throwing axes and aimed a sharp throw, hitting the clone in the head. A loud violet explosion filled the air.

Jah'rakal cursed under his breath. This wasn't a clone! This was the real Spectre, using its handy Dispersion ability, which enables it to scatter the damage received around it leaving the Spectre unharmed.

Summoning power from his mana pools, he imbued a blinding glare in some golden powder he brought with him in journeys. The powder when fixated with this power can totally blind the target making it miss. The powder hit the Spectre and a sort of strangulated screech filled the air.

Not minding the sound, Jah'rakal jumped towards the black figure and used the remaining mana for his two skills, Berserker Rage and Rampage. Combined, these skills will make him unstoppable.

In a series of blows that the Spectre could not counter, Jah'rakal slashed with a final strike, killing the Spectre. But he was doubtful the creature would stay dead. It was a spirit after all and a tomb guardian too.

He was about to run for the tomb entrance when he suddenly saw the sprawled form of the elf at the back of his eye. Jah'rakal turned and stared.

Would he save the elf and satyr? By all accounts, he wouldn't, taking into fact that elves and satyrs were a general enemy to the troll dominion. But the troll dominion was no more and it wouldn't hurt to have an ally in fighting whatever horrible beast lay in the depths of the tomb of Alterac.

So Jah'rakal, grabbed two bottles of Sapphire Water he got from a goblin merchant along the way and poured its healing prowess onto the satyr and the elf.

Instantly, they woke, taking in large gulps of air as if it were the first they had in so long a time.

Jah'rakal waited impatiently for the two to recover from their ordeal. He had one eye on the place where he struck the Spectre dead, hoping against hope that it wouldn't reappear at that moment.

The satyr was first to realize the importance of the situation. He stared indefinitely at Jah'rakal before speaking. "What happened? I thought we were dead for sure..."

"I went a-coming, mon," Jah'rakal spoke with pride. "I got a-pouring of Sapphire Water on boths of you."

The satyr stared at the still semi-conscious elf. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Jah'rakal shrugged. "Normally, I would be a-saying yes. But not today, mon, not today. He might a-been under the tricksy spells of a-baddie."

"So I take it you have not slain the Black Spirits..."

Jah'rakal stared at the oblivious individual. "There no Black Spirit, bossmon. Only a-Spectre with a-ice-cold name of Mercurial. Ice-cold, mon, cool. Spectre a-go a-haunting nearby victims making that ice-cool illusions. It's wicked, boss, wicked. But I got wickeder power. He was like, BOOM, one, two, three, four, five a-poundin' and the Spectre was a-gone, a-gone away."

The satyr looked dumbstruck. "Wait... The Spirit Nortrom fought was the Spectre!"

"Whos-a-be-a-Nortrom...?" Jah'rakal glanced at the elf for a second before glancing back at the satyr. The satyr nodded.

"Nortrom is a Silencer from the Arcane Sanctum of Quel'Thalas," the satyr said. "I am Rikimaru, the Stealth Assassin as I'd like to be called."

"Jah'rakal, I be Jah'rakal," Jah'rakal inclined his head. "You can call me the ultimate Troll Warlord of a-century. I was a-controlling forest trolls before, boss. I was also a-fighting with the tiny satyrs like you, boss. That was no offense, tiny mon."

A sudden memory sparked inside the satyr. He remembered the story of his mother, the story of the satyrs and the trolls, the war between them, the war his father had died fighting in...

Anger pulsed inside his veins so suddenly. The trolls were responsible for his father's death! They are beyond the satyr's trust!

But then the memory of his quest and the vision at the Tirisfal camp tugged at him from the edge of his mind. And so he thought about Jah'Rakal's proposal...

"My father had died in the war," Rikimaru spoke in spite of himself. "But the circumstances present now are not fit for an ancestral blood feud. I shall bring this topic once more when Nortrom and I have finished our quest."

"Would you be after ice-cool Manta Style?" Jah'rakal said, grinning. "I be after it. It's ice-cool powers, mon, quite wicked."

"Manta Style?" Rikimaru stared at the troll. "Wait, isn't that..."

The satyr flashbacked to a time long ago when his father was still alive... During that time, he heard of the secret artifact, the Manta Style, that his father wanted to give him as an heirloom. But due to the event of that war with the trolls, Farimaru was not able to fulfill his promise...

"It's wicked, mon," Jah'Rakal grinned. "I'd stay here an' talk long but a-Spectre might be a-revivin' and go poundin' us three..."

Rikimaru nodded his approval and tried to heave the elf upon his shoulder.

The elf's eyes suddenly blazed open. "Rikimaru! What are you doing?!"

Nortrom pushed himself up and raised his weapons high. "What happened? Where are the Spirits?"

Rikimaru briefly explained to the elf about the Spectre, Mercurial and how Jah'Rakal happened to pass by.

"I used Sapphire Water on ya, mon," Jah'rakal replied which surprised Nortrom. "Them goblins really a-knowing their stuff."

Nortrom just looked from Rikimaru to Jah'rakal. "Well, we've wasted much time already. We better go before Mercurial wakes up again..."

"That'd be the right thinkin', boss," Jah'rakal agreed heartedly and the three ran into the entrance of the Tomb of Alterac unhindered.

* * *

The path down the tomb was no easy task. The unused stone stairs were overgrown with cobwebs and other detritus. The three heroes had to traverse the rough terrain and it took them a long time to reach the bottom where a crossroads met their path. 

Jah'rakal broke the mounting silence. "Does both of you mon a-knowing where we go?"

Rikimaru shrugged. So did Nortrom.

"Tha'z rather fortune on you, boss," the troll continued. "I got them planned from up to the heavens to the bottom of this well. Le'z a-go lookin' for this pointy sort-a rock that would show the true ice-cool path."

They searched each entrance until they found a rock in a shape of a hand pointing into the east direction.

"Great," Rikimaru said, leading the expedition. "Let's go."

They ventured deep and silent for one whole minute with only the sound of the dripping water accumulated in the cave's past. Stalagmites and stalactites filled the cave. It cave a creepy feeling of going inside the mouth of a many toothed monster.

Nortrom was not amused by the lack of underground critters that would bar their way. He had expected other creatures to protect this place apart from the Spectre. Apparently, the being that ruled this sanctuary believed it impossible for his defenses to be breached with his immortal defender around.

"I don't like this place at all." Nortrom called to the others.

"I don' like it either, boss," Jah'rakal said shaking his long head. "But I gotta get ice-cool Style."

"What is it about this Style?" Rikimaru piped up. "I know it's great but what's so cool about it?"

Jah'rakal pointed to himself confoundedly. "It has this ice-cool power of making clones of any mon. Very helpful for tight spots. I just wanna get some troll artifact, boss. Kinda like a remembrance for my Warlord days."

"Clones?" Rikimaru said, thinking it over. "Won't that be helpful... We're just going here out of gut instinct. From what Nortrom and I feel, some kind of evil will begin from this place.."

"Hey, leave me out of this, Rik," Nortrom grunted. "I'm just coming with you. Our priority should have been to catch up with the Horde and the Alliance. And suddenly you come running out to the Alterac Ruins because somebody from another world told you to..."

"I don't want to start again, Nortrom," Rikimaru sighed. "If you don't trust me enough, why don't you leave us already?"

There was silence. Nortrom had nothing to say to this remark. Jah'Rakal was just grinning there.

"You, mon, say some bad voodoo will come a-risin' here?" Jah'Rakal broke the silence. "That'd seem not unlikely..."

"Really?" Rikimaru inquired. "Why not?"

"'Cause Alterac be home to a great bad voodoo..."

But before Rikimaru could inquire further, Nortrom suddenly hissed. "Shh!! Something's moving over there..."

The satyr and the troll glanced at the cave wall in front of them. Some light coming from one side was sending out its luminescence into a body of liquid. And some kind of creature was moving in that liquid...

"I'll check it out." Rikimaru suddenly disappeared from view.

"Ice-cool," Jah'rakal commented vaguely. "He could be gone."

Nortrom peered over a large boulder and found the source of light to be a glowing green cage. The moving creature that contained it was a enormous golem way larger than anything he'd ever seen. It was constantly appearing in and out of the cage as if something tugged its essence from the real world.

"You gotta see this, Jah'rakal," Nortrom whispered behind him.

The troll leapt on the rock and silently viewed the sight. "This is more ice-cool, mon! Better than puny little satyr goin' gone!"

Behind him, Nortrom heard a gentle whoosh and Rikimaru materialized once more. "I suggest you don't come near it. It's been tugging on me since I approached it. There's some sort of portal there that leads to another universe or something."

"Would Manta Style be there?" Jah'Rakal inquired, glancing at the golem with delight.

"It's nowhere there." Rikimaru said. "But I think it's further down the cave. Besides, ever since you mentioned that artifact, I thought it would only seem reasonable that the Style was by the end of this cave.

They clambered over the rocky path deeper into the cave. It lasted longer than their trip down since they did not encounter any other spectacular scenery since the golem-portal thing earlier.

As they rounded a final corner, a sudden light burst into their eyes. In the center of a clearing devoid of rocky terrain, a huge stone casket seemed to release a self-sustaining light. It blinded them with bright-yellow luminescence since their eyes were very much accustomed to the darkness of the cave.

The awe-aspiring site instantly consumed them. This was where the answer to Rikimaru's quest had to be. This was where Manta Style of Jah'Rakal had to be.

Instinctively, Nortrom crossed over to the threshold of light. Apparently, it was a mistake he would never forget.

Instantly, upon the elf's entrance into the clearing, the casket opened up and red smoke filled the cave blocking out all light. A booming voice which came from the casket itself echoed into the darkness.

_Hear, you mortals, the song of old. The dawn of death approaches._

_You have crossed into the realm. Thy be in Tarrasque's clutches._

_Golem of death, seek thee out. Into the world of another thee shall flee._

_Tarrasque has spoken and you shall fall. By Style's blade and Roshan's glee. _


	10. Tarrasque

Chapter 9: **TARRASQUE**

(Disclaimer is at the prologue of this story) Story may not be accurate to that of written accounts in various sources.

* * *

Colors of many tints and shades flashed before Rikimaru's eyes. Nortrom had been engulfed by the light so suddenly that the satyr and troll just stood there gaping as the horror unfold. More importantly, the warning that boomed from the casket in a deep voice kept ringing in their heads. 

_Tarrasque has spoken and you shall fall. By Style's blade and Roshan's glee._

One word rang inside Rikimaru's head: _Tarrasque_…

"Who are you, Tarrasque?!" Rikimaru exclaimed to the heavens. "Release the elf!"

The light immediately subsided. Rikimaru was breathing hard as if he ran a mile. Jah'Rakal was cowering by some rocks behind him.

The form of a huge blood-red spirit stood over Rikimaru. The essence of the spirit seemed to come from the casket in the center of the clearing. Nortrom was nowhere in sight.

_You call me with no respect, mortal?_

The voice came from everywhere. Fear enveloped Rikimaru's mind. He could not think properly. This creature was far bigger than anything he'd ever managed in his life…

_Speak up, mortal! Lest you want Tarrasque's judgment to fall…_

"Are you the mortal form of the spirit in my vision?" Rikimaru dared question.

The creature paused for a while. It seemed that he had not expected Rikimaru to ask such a question.

_I am eternal, unlike you, mortal. I have no mortal form._

Rikimaru shook his head. The voice and resemblance to the one in his dreams was unmistakable. "You lie, great spirit, you lie."

Again, the spirit paused. It seemed to be doing some critical thinking.

_You dare mock a spirit, mortal? You dare challenge me?_

"I dare challenge the spirit that would destroy Azeroth," Rikimaru told the spirit straight on. He knew that this was the evil that would rise to destroy his country. He knew it was the truth…

_A mortal versus an immortal? How foolish..._ The spirit laughed cruelly.

"I am stronger than you think."

_Such bravado._ The spirit was mocking Rikimaru. _If you are strong, I am stronger…_

In a flash of light, the room was suddenly filled with four spirits all blood-red in color, all look-alikes of Tarrasque.

"That'd be 'em Style! That'd be 'em Style!" Jah'Rakal exclaimed from behind, pointing at the weapon held by the spirit.

It was a giant axe, bigger than anything Rikimaru had ever seen. It was glowing with tremendous power that sent fear to the satyr.

_Laugh now, mortal. Do you think you can defeat me?_

Rikimaru was speechless.

* * *

The earth split into two underneath the gigantic golem, making it lose balance. Leshrac was rushing under and out of rocks, buying his allies some time to get past the beast. Abbadon was running as fast as he can while summoning his otherworldly powers to create an orbital shield that would protect him for the meantime. Balanar was running as swift as he can through the terrain. The cave was raining with bolts of rock summoned by the immense power of the golem. 

"Run, Leshrac," Balanar screamed. "I'll crush him myself."

Balanar summoned his powers of Void while the Tormented Soul made his escape. The golem stumbled over from the attack. This was just what Balanar wanted. Sending the monster a Crippling Fear, he lunged and struck a dozen times in speed. The Night Stalker would have done more if not for the calls of Abbadon.

"Stop, Balanar, stop! We are wasting time."

Balanar regretfully ended his pounding streak and swiftly jumped rock after rock towards his comrades. "Sorry, got carried away…"

"It doesn't matter," Abbadon replied. "The golem is the least of our worries."

"Least?" Balanar looked surprised.

"I sense… Tarrasque…" Leshrac voiced. "He has… been angered…"

"Tarrasque happens to be the spirit of this place," Abbadon explained. "He's the connection that we'll make for our Ethereal friend."

The trio clambered over rocks as swiftly as they can. A conversation seemed to be going on at the center of the cave. They could almost hear the booming sounds of an omnipotent being.

_Laugh now, mortal. Do you think you can defeat me?_

Abbadon's eyes grew wide when he heard this. "Balanar! Our enemies must not defeat Tarrasque! Stop them!"

Balanar grew startled, but seeing Abbadon's commanding face, he immediately jumped on the task.

Rushing with the power of night, Balanar sped through the rocks hoping against hope that it was not too late. He knew that a great spirit such as this was so powerful that mortals could never defeat it alone. But he did not know the strengths of their hidden enemy. Who knows what they could achieve with defeating a great spirit?

Rikimaru was about to charge through the clearing when a blur ran past him and tripped him over. He hit his forehead on the rough floor causing his head to bleed.

"Stop, satyr."

Rikimaru rolled over to find a dreadlord standing above him. "What the hell did you do?"

"You're the worst of their kind," the dreadlord said holding out one hand to pull up the satyr. "Stay out of this fight; I'll bring you to safety..."

Rikimaru did not take the hand, but chose to stand by himself. Seeing the gesture, the dreadlord sighed. "You try to hold your honor 'til the very end. How noble, but how stupid."

Tarrasque laughed cruelly after discharging his Manta Style clones. _You fight your blood feuds in front of me? How amusing…_

The dreadlord continued to stare at the satyr. "Do you want to die?"

"I will gladly die," Rikimaru spoke valiantly. "But I would not die in your hands, dreadlord..."

The dreadlord cursed. "If you don't want to move away, I will have to kill you."

In a zip, the dreadlord was gone. Before Rikimaru could reach his bearings on the situation, a blurred figure rushed at him and drove him to the ground where Jah'Rakal stood speechless.

"Undead!" Jah'Rakal screeched. "Undead, mon!"

"Shut up, troll," the dreadlord spoke. In a swift slash, Jah'Rakal was sent to the other side of the cavern. Tarrasque laughed in glee at this point.

Rikimaru, seeing that the dreadlord was distracted for that second, summoned the required mana and Blinked across the room towards his fallen ally. Rikimaru wiped his bloody face and breathed hard. Jah'Rakal was unconscious on the floor. The dreadlord was standing there, glaring at his escape.

"I'll deal with you later," the dreadlord grunted, and left in a flash.

Rikimaru sat down beside his unconscious comrade to take in everything that was happening. The sudden appearance of a dreadlord with strange powers could only mean one thing. The Undead are here, and they want to take the power of Tarrasque!

Tarrasque did not seem to notice. Isn't that just funny! I can't believe how crazy you mortals are! Are all of you here to challenge me?

_Tarrasque!_ Another booming voice erupted from the heavens.

Tarrasque was immediately distracted. He remembered this voice quite well._Cenarius? How… How is it possible?_

A pale-faced human and a horse-like ghost appeared from behind the rocks. The ghost was shining brighter than ever. The voice seemed to come from him.

_You say that I am Cenarius…_

_You are a Tormented Soul! _Tarrasque was burning in rage at the desecration. _The work of the Lich King! How dare you defile the soul of a great spirit!_

_I have come to destroy you, Tarrasque. The Lich King will make good use of your powers…_

_I am immortal! You will never hope to defeat me!_

The Cenarius-like creature laughed hard as if Tarrasque had just told one big lie.

Immediately, lightning from the skies thundered upon Tarrasque disarming him. The Manta Style landed with a thud upon the cavern floor just beside where Rikimaru and Jah'Rakal were hiding from the scene.

_Laugh now, Tarrasque… Laugh now…_

* * *

Balanar, at that moment, charged at the disarmed spirit. He was definitely weaker without the Manta Style. With speed as his greatest weapon, Balanar jumped from wall to wall striking every bit of the spirit he encountered.

Abbadon attacked with a shout, summoning the mana to cover himself with an Aphotic Shield which would disperse the damage would be receiving.

Leshrac just kept on calling Lightning Bolt after Lightning Bolt on the creature. It was obvious that Tarrasque was losing to these three powerful heroes.

As the battle reared on, Rikimaru woke his troll friend up. Jah'Rakal was quite surprised when he gained consciousness. It was unbelievable! The Undead were actually winning over a great spirit!

Leshrac approached the two of them with a clatter of hooves. "Do you... realize... what's happening...?"

The duo immediately armed themselves when the Tormented Soul approached.

"Are you the Tormented Soul of Cenarius?" Rikimaru asked viciously.

Leshrac faced the satyr. "Long ago... I was... Now... I am… the King's... servant..."

The Tormented Soul summoned energy from his palm and immediately Rikimaru knew he was going to strike. With his remaining mana, the satyr jumped to a Blink Strike and struck through his enemy. Leshrac flew across the cavern at the blow.

Rikimaru approached the Tormented Soul. "Are you getting something besides the Manta Style? Does the Lich King want to corrupt Tarrasque as well? Answer me!"

The Tormented Soul just laid there with his sad, sad face. "The King's… will… be done…"

The earth suddenly fell apart underneath Rikimaru. He almost fell into the abyss as the earth shook. Rikimaru just hung on for dear life.

"We… will have… his Heart…" the Tormented Soul approached Rikimaru. "We… will have… his Spectre…"

Leshrac charged his palm to summon a bolt of lightning but before he could cast it, a pack of trolls jumped upon him.

"Take that, Tormented-mon!" the voice of four Troll Warlords shouted in unison. The Manta Style blade was gleaming quite brightly in the Jah'Rakals' hands as they beat up the soul of Leshrac.

Rikimaru clambered up the hole and raised himself up. He could see Tarrasque was bloodied because of Balanar and Abbadon. What is the meaning of what the Tormented Soul said? His heart? His Spectre?

Abbadon struck Tarrasque countless of times in the chest. Balanar was trying to rip of the ribs of the spirit. They were both hitting in the general area…

"No…" Rikimaru suddenly realized. The Heart of Tarrasque must be connected with the Spectre! And once the Scourge have the Spectre on their side, they'd be unstoppable!

"Jah'Rakal! Stop them from getting the Heart!" Rikimaru exclaimed as he scrambled after the two undead heroes on the other side of the cavern. "Jah'Rakal!"

Abbadon struck once more. It was evident in his greedy eyes that he had struck gold. A beating red stump fell from the spirit's chest. It fell by Abbadon's feet. The death knight grinned. They had gotten their treasure...

For a brief moment, Tarrasque stared in agony at Rikimaru. For that few seconds that Tarrasque was still existent, Rikimaru knew from the spirit's glare that it was all over…

_I have failed. Evil… will… reign…_

Bursts of light filled the cavern. Different shades of different colors flashed in that very instant. A shout of immensity came from the casket of a great spirit. Tarrasque was no more…


End file.
